


Red Lullaby

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Dadquisition [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark, Dialogue Heavy, Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Original Character Death(s), Red Lyrium, Temporary Character Death, dark future, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While trapped in the Dark Future, Cassandra does her best to lighten the last moments of the Herald's teenage daughter, who has been almost completely claimed by red lyrium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Lullaby

Cassandra does not know why exactly their Tevinter guards have agreed to move her and the girl into a shared cell. Perhaps they believed her when she assured them that she was capable of calming down her incessant screaming; or perhaps, they reasoned that close proximity to one another in the confines of these oppressive stone walls would speed up the infection that was tainting them. In any case, she feels grateful to them (as much as one can feel grateful to vile cultists that have unleashed a demon army upon the world) for doing so. It is not right, for someone so young to die alone, in darkness and in fear. At least this way, the child has someone to watch over her in her final moments.  
  
Cassandra glances down at the heavy, misshapen head that rests on her knees, making it looks as though she is nursing a gigantic lump of red crystal. Of all those captured in Redcliffe Castle on that fateful day, when the magister cast the Herald into a swirling green chasm, never to be seen again, the girl was among the first to succumb to the tainted poison that they have all been force-fed. Her features are now barely recognizable, and as Cassandra absent-mindedly passes her hand against her gnarled, throbbing flesh - knowing that this will not soothe her but doing it anyway, almost out of instinct - she can only guess where among the jagged shards of lyrium are the girl's hands or chest or face.  
  
And she used to be so pretty, too - though many of those blinded by prejudice would have failed to see that. She has inherited the imposing height and built from her Qunari father, Adaar, the Herald of Andraste; but her features have to have come from her mother, who, according to Leliana's briefing on Adaar's history and connections, was an elf. Unlike the rugged, chiseled faces of the Herald's kinsmen, his daughter's face is... was more delicate. Now it has been completely swallowed by lyrium, lost underneath a twisting net of bulging red veins. Only her eyes, green like her father's, are yet visible - but they, too, have become tainted: dim and bloodshot and almost devoid of sentient expression.  
  
The former liveliness is no longer present in her gaze - and she was once filled with it almost to bursting point. In the days long gone, when the world was still intact, and they all still had a hope for the future, the child would exude happy, pup-like energy, which on more than one occasion made the Seeker feel quite exasperated. She remembers scoffing at the girl as she rushed across Haven, doing Maker knows what, or pulled the most ludicrous grimaces if her father did not pay enough attention to her. Oh, and there were those pranks, of course - from drawing male... vital organs on the building walls to putting lizards in Solas' soup. When Sera joined the Inquisition, the two of them became inseparable, and their snorting laughter could be heard from the most unlikely corners of Haven at the most unseemly hours.  
  
Once upon a time, Cassandra disapproved of that. Greatly disapproved of that. Of course, it was unworthy of any righteous Andrastian to think that way, but there were certain moments when she wondered whether things could have been easier if the Herald had emerged from the Fade without a barely conscious teenager clinging on to him. The girl was, in many ways, a nuisance. In addition to wreaking havoc around camp, she also tended to get in the adults' way if she tagged along on missions - and she did that quite often, because waiting for her father in the safety of a home, like an obedient child, bored her to no end (that had to be why she had tagged along with him to the Conclave in the first place), and the Herald found it very hard to say no to her.  
  
Take, for example, that instance when she decided to go for a swim in the lake while they were supposed to be meeting the Grey Warden. Of course, all that splashing about in her underclothes rendered her a vulnerable target for bandits - she would have been slain for certain if Ser Blackwall hadn't shielded her with his body. And that time when she was trying to peek through an ocularum and almost fell to her death; or when she began to deliberately yawn during an ambush and alerted every thug in the vicinity of the Inquisition scouts' presence... Or when she thought it would be so very entertaining to stick a torch with Veilfire underneath her chin so that it cast an eerie light on her face - and ended up dropping it and leaving the entire party lost in a pitch-black ruin, which was infested with giant spiders and shades and other unseemly creatures.  
  
Oh, dear Maker, the girl was a nuisance - and worst of all, she was spoiled. Her father obediently went along with most of her whims, and did not punish her nearly as strictly as she deserved it when she went too far... And, as far as Cassandra could tell, he had not taught her an inkling of a trade; he did try to make her train with a sword a few times, but this inevitably ended in a temper tantrum, of a kind that the Seeker would never have expected from such a grown young woman... That was how she referred to the child back then, while she was trying to talk some sense into her; Maker, how things change!  
  
The Herald's daughter had just turned sixteen at the time when the Inquisition. Sixteen! At that age, Cassandra was already fighting side by side with seasoned warriors; at that age, many other girls were considered mature enough to marry and start families of their own... And yet, all that this youngling could think of were foolish games and pandering to her own laziness and selfishness. In a better world, Cassandra found this unspeakable; in this world, however, she sees everything differently.  
  
She sees a child that enjoyed every moment of her life, lighthearted and carefree as a bird, unburdened by duty and responsibility, safe and protected in the shadow of her doting father. She sees a child that, if given some more time, could have outgrown her self-centered, reckless attitude, and made the first step towards accomplishing great things, like the deeds of the Herald himself. She sees a flower that had not yet bloomed, a book that had barely progressed past the first chapter, a sword that was still a bulging lump of ore.  
  
But now, none of this will ever happen. The child's story has been cut short, abruptly and mercilessly; the world that once gave her so much joy has been ravaged by demons, and now lies as a desolate wasteland underneath an unfamiliar, venomous sky; whereas her mind and body are slowly crumbling apart into lifeless red crystals.  
  
'Cass... Cassandra...' the girl mumbles thickly, her voice warped by the shards of lyrium that have pierced her throat like bloodied spikes.  
  
The older woman catches hold of the five long crystal clusters that were once the child's fingers.  
  
'I am here, Asala,' she says, as softly as she can. When the world was whole, she would never have expected herself to treat the girl so meekly; but she is too worn out to really care about staying in-character.  
  
'I... I think that's it...' Asala breathes raspingly through the twisted slit of her mouth. 'I think... every part of me... is lyrium now... I... I am dying...'  
  
Cassandra starts. Like most teenagers, so young and full of life that they believe themselves to be immortal, Asala used to be carelessly, even cynically dismissive of death; and in early stages of lyrium infection, when she could still properly talk and laugh, she used to stun the Seeker with jokes about meeting the Maker that bordered on blasphemy. Then, as months went by and the lyrium corruption relentlessly devoured her body, she forgot about all her humour and bravado and took to weeping, and then shrieking hysterically, for hours on end, repeating over and over again that she did not want to die. But hearing her acknowledge her coming end in such a calm, matter-of-fact manner is more painful by far than all the forced laughs and the screams.  
  
'You are strong, Asala,' the Seeker says, squeezing the girl's stiff, crystallized fingers as hard as she can. 'You can still hold on'.  
  
'Hold on for what?' Asala asks, her echoing voice almost as monotonous as a Tranquil's. 'For more demons? More Tevinter madness? I am...'   
  
For a moment, it seems that her distorted face cracks into a smile, as she utters a phrase that she must have picked up from Sera.  
  
'I am friggin tired of all this! Of being hurt, and confused, and scared... I just want to... go away. To wherever it is people go after they are done here... If that Elder One thingy hasn't ruined that place, too...'  
  
Her voice trails off into a sigh, which then merges with the steady hum of the lyrium. For a while, Cassandra sits in silence with her head inclined and her fingers still woven through Asala's. Her heart contracting in a surge of cold, benumbing pain, she tells herself that this might be the last time she ever hears the child speak - but Asala calls to her again, unexpectedly, her voice quiet and tremulous.  
  
'Ca- Cassandra... Do you think He'll let me in? The Maker? Da believed in Him, and he taught me, too... I thought it was all boring, but now... Do you think He'll like me? The Chantry sisters said that because we're not humans...'  
  
'The Chantry sisters have been wrong on many accounts,' Cassandra says sternly, smiling inwardly as she feels a spark of her former fervour flicker again. 'It is not for me to decide what the Maker wills, but I believe all His children are equal in His eyes'.  
  
Asala makes a faint croaking noise which might be a sigh of relief.  
  
'Do... Do you think there's singing... in there?' she asks, after another small pause. 'I mean... They're all supposed to be singing... the Chant of Light and stuff? I... I love singing... I have always wanted to be a singer... To act in... Orlesian theatre... To put on a mask and a pretty dress... and have people... clap to me... But Da said nobody would come to see a... half-qunari... He said that the only thing I could be... was a mercenary...'  
  
Cassandra should probably not have melted so easily over a dying child's half-delirious confession - and yet, there it is: an intense burning feeling in her eyes, which most definitely does not come from red lyrium.  
  
'I am certain that your voice will be welcome at the Maker's side,' she says earnestly.  
  
'Thanks...' Asala mouths. 'You've been... really kind... Even though I used to drive you up the... up the wall... You... you are not as mean as you... were trying to be... are you?'  
  
She has asked that same question before, many times - but perhaps her dying mind is no longer capable of holding on to some memories. The additional comment that follows the question is completely new, however.  
  
'Da would... would have been so... relieved...'  
  
Cassandra stiffens.  
  
'What? Why?' she asks brusquely. Maker, it has been a year since he perished, and she is still uncomfortable when discussing the Herald in almost any context other than closing Rifts.  
  
'He... He liked you...' Asala explains, as best she can. Up to this point, she has refused to talk about her father, no matter how Cassandra encouraged her to overcome the pain of losing him. And now that she has finally brought herself to touch upon the subject, it seems that the red poison is driving her to say all sorts of nonsense.   
  
'He liked you a lot. You know... He was kinda... popular with human women back in the Marches... and Orlais... They were mostly nasty, though... They looked a my Da and all they could see... was this big Qunari... beefcake... A... a plaything for them... They thought I was too young and stupid to understand... what they were up to... But I did... And Andraste's tits, did I make their life miserable!..'  
  
Somewhere underneath the slab of red that covers her chest, a faint noise is heard, like cogs of a rusty mechanism grinding against one another. Asala is trying to laugh.  
  
'Da kinda... approved, I think... he... He also understood... what they saw in him... You - you are the first human... woman... who was neither scared of him nor... licked her lips at him... Who was his friend. He... He liked being your friend... But he also liked... you... Not like those women liked him... Like - like girls my age are supposed to like boys... You know... All blushes and stuff...'  
  
Cassandra bites into her lips, remembering, with wistful fondness, the goofy look on the Herald's face when he first tried to pay her a compliment.   
  
She scoffed at him then - but not in anger. And now she is left to wonder, with a sort of gripping feeling swelling up in the pit of her stomach, about the things that might have been... But that story, just like Asala's, is to end before it even properly began.  
  
'It was an honour to fight at your father's side,' she says quietly. 'And... And to be his friend... I - I miss him very much'.  
  
'I miss him too...' Asala says, and the incessant throbbing of the red lyrium lodged in her flesh quickens slightly, like a rushed, pained heartbeat. A few months earlier, she would likely have begun to sob at the mention of her father's passing, but now she does not have the strength even for that.   
  
A few moments later, as though sensing Cassandra's thoughts, she asks a question that once again takes the grown woman by surprise,  
  
'Say... if he had asked you... to have dinner with him at the Herald's Rest... Would you have agreed?'    
  
The gripping feeling soars to a peak of pain, but Cassandra does her best to conceal it, with a short, dry laugh.  
  
'Would you not have tried to make my life miserable?'  
  
'Nah...' Asala says. Her response is supposed to be cheeky and nonchalant, like most of teenage slang is - but instead, in turns into a rustling, almost mournful sigh.  
  
'I said... you were... different... didn't I? I think... I think you... you two... would have been cute together...  Two... really... really great friends... Like you... Like you read in books about... someone's parents...'  
  
She cuts herself short, and looks up at Cassandra with her tired, bleary eyes.  
  
'I - I didn't mean...'  
  
'I do not mind,' the Seeker reassures her. 'You and I have spent so much time battling this blighted sickness side by side that we might as well be family'.  
  
These words are not just something she makes up to comfort a dying child. She does believe them. Perhaps spending a year in shackles, with nothing to do but ruminate on the tragic fate of the world, has made her go soft - but she has indeed come to look at the girl as... her own. In a way. Asala's mother died in childbirth, her small elven body too frail to cope with a baby that had qunari blood; her father, the only family she had for her entire life, was slain by the insane Tevinter magister; and now, her last source if solace, as her entire self is being moulded into a source of red lyrium, is the very woman who would yell at her when she got into trouble. But - but is that not what mothers do? Yell at their daughters when they stray off the safe path? Cassandra has no way of telling: she barely remembers her own mother, let alone knows how to be one. And yet...  
  
As she emerges from the depths of her own mind, she realizes that Asala has not spoken again for quite a long while. Her heart thrashing in her chest, she peers anxiously into the girl's disfigured face and calls out her name in a trembling whisper. Asala responds with a single, slow blink, but does not make a sound.   
  
So - so it begins. The final journey to a place where her song would join those of her parents.  
  
Taking a long, deep breath, Cassandra wraps her arms tighter around the crystalline husk, and says, her voice both solemn and quivering with feeling,  
  
'Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
From these emerald waters doth life spring anew.  
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
In my arms lies Eternity...'  
  
As the last word of this short Chant verse dissolves in the dreary silence of the dungeon, the Seeker leans down and, knowing that she is too far-gone herself to care about what this does to her, presses her lips against Asala's red- streaked forehead. As a mother would, while kissing her child good night.


End file.
